


Lend Me a Hand

by bearcantwrite



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Coming In Pants, Crushes, Eventual Romance, Fluffy Ending, Hair Pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-18 16:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13103955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearcantwrite/pseuds/bearcantwrite
Summary: Race has always heard of Spot Conlon, never seen him. What happens when they meet at the strike rally is simply indescribably beautiful.Alternatively titled: horny teenager has a crush on the king of brooklyn who’s also another horny teenager





	Lend Me a Hand

**Author's Note:**

> ever since i watched the vid of tommy bracco reading sprace fanfiction i felt like god was watching me whenever i wrote

Spot Conlon.

Nobody really knew much about Spot Conlon. Well, they knew enough to stay away from him; Spot Conlon was the King of Brooklyn, a bad boy, a tough guy. Should anyone step a single foot in Brooklyn, they’d come face to face with him and about twenty of his gang. Not many people have seen Spot Conlon, so they made up stories about what they heard from their friend who heard it from another friend. Thus, Spot Conlon was a rather big deal in Manhattan, but nobody cared as much as one particular newsie did.

Racetrack Higgins. The tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, lanky, cigar-carrying newsboy who always had a witty one-liner ready to spew out at any given second, who’s accent was heavy to the point where he’d say certain things incorrectly and confuse everybody around him. Race was always pushing someone around, teasing them and whatnot. He never showed fear or genuine interest in someone until he heard some newsies up late at night murmuring in excitement. When he was about to grumble at them to shut their traps, his head perked up at one newsie talking about how “he chased a group of thugs out of Brooklyn”, and another one talking about how “he ain’t nothin’ like we says he is”, and Davey talking about how they needed to be quiet and go to sleep. And so, Race has been infatuated with the stories of Spot Conlon for who knows how long now. Guess one could say he was infatuated with Spot Conlon himself - if anyone even said the word “Brooklyn”, you could bet Race would be bounding over in less than a minute.

It was the day of the strike rally. The Medda Theater was packed to the brim with different newsies from everywhere. Brooklyn, Harlem, Midtown, Queens, Manhattan, Flushing, Richmond, Woodside, even the Bronx. Excitement buzzed in the room and made everyone chattery. Race was chatting with a girl newsie - rather rare, to be honest - named Smalls when he saw a small crowd of about four newsies chittering excitedly. Naturally, when he heard Spot Conlon’s name, he hopped over to peer in.

“You hear Spot Conlon ain’t nothin’ like they says he is?” One newsie said.

“You’re crazy!” Another exclaimed.

“I’m serious!” The first one said. “They says he’s like...not that scary.”

“Whaddya mean?” A third one chirped.

“I don’know! I only heard it from the folks in Queens! S’crazy talk!

“Would you shut up?!” A fourth newsie whispered furiously. “He could be right’ere!”

“Shut up, ohmygod, he’s over there!” The second one said, gasping.

Race walked around the small crowd to see what they were gawking at. A few boys cleared to reveal a newsie talking with Davey; Spot Conlon. He was very short, Race’s guess was around five-foot-four. But god fucking damn it, he was _beautiful._ Curly, dark brown brown hair poked out of his hat and he wore a striped red shirt, and his trousers were held up by black and white suspenders. He had tan skin and brown eyes that shone to match his curls. When he smiled or laughed, it was the most beautiful thing Race had ever seen. And his shirt revealed those well-built arms. In fact, he was well built in general.

Oh, Race couldn’t stop staring at him. He was so hot, so beautiful, so wonderful. That smile, those eyes, that body...thoughts began to run through Race’s head that made his cheeks turn a light pink. He felt a strange feeling pool in his stomach, oh dear god he couldn’t help himself, the thoughts that flooded his mind were just too much to handle. The next thing Race knew, he had slapped his hand over his mouth to muffle any noises that would slip out and his free hand grabbed onto a metal bar. His eyes rolled back until they eventually shut as he felt a pleasurable sensation rocket through his body. Race knew he was cumming, and he was cumming hard. Just staring at Spot gave him a fluttery feeling in his heart. He was right there, in the flesh. When his blue eyes finally opened after he caught his breath, he saw he had also caught Spot’s gaze, but he looked away. He felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. _Did he see me?_

Spot started walking over and Race’s heart stopped working. Race bit his lip nervously and looked around as he fiddled with a cigar in his hand that he took out of his pocket. “You mind if I stand here wit’ you?” Spot Conlon spoke. Spot Conlon fucking spoke to him. “It’s way more quiet over he’eh.”

Race found himself nodding and fiddling with the cigar yet. “Yeah. Yeah sure. Go ‘head.”

Spot gave a grin, “Thank you.” He stood beside him with his arms crossed, “Sometimes it’s just a little crowded, y’know?”

Race nodded and pushed down the urge to scream. “Yeah, yeah, I get’cha. Which is why I stay on the perimeter.” Upon closer inspection, he noticed Spot had a small gap between his top two teeth. It was the cutest thing Race had ever seen, and he genuinely had to push down the urge to scream this time.

“So,” Spot’s hands transferred to his pocket. “You got a name?“

Race looked Spot in the eye and gave a charming smile. _Just play it safe, Higgins,_ he thought. _Charm him if you can._ “Yes I do. Name’s Racetrack Higgins, but the folks at Manhattan call me Race or Race’h. Use ta bet all my money on horse races, so that’s why they’s callin’ me Race.”

Spot let out a laugh, probably the most beautiful sound Race has ever heard in his life. The taller newsie couldn’t help but let pride swell in his heart; he made someone as stoic as Spot Conlon laugh. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said. “Spot’s just a nickname for what my folks called me. I know it ain’t the most exciting story from a Brooklyn boy, but if I was good at tellin’ stories I’d be writin’ the headline, not sellin it.”

Race giggled, “Nuddin’ but truth.” He scanned the theater full of newsies and felt his heart pump with a feeling he usually pushed back; nerves. He hadn’t seen Jack since the fight with the cops, and even though he had got confirmation and comfort from Davey that Jack was alive and well, he still felt a little lost without the leader there to reassure them. And Crutchie...he didn’t like to talk about Crutchie. His nerves were calmed by Spot speaking to him again.

“I, uh..” Spot bit his lip. “Your eyes are really...striking.” He glanced away slightly and fumbled with his hands in his pockets.

Race wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the unintentional pun or screech at the person he’s longtime admired. Spot Conlon complimented him. Spot Conlon complimented his eyes, and Race could have sworn he saw Spot’s own cheeks turn a soft rose. “T-Thank ya,” he managed to squeak out. “These baby blues ain’t the most special ‘round the block, but ain’t no other newsie got’em as blue as me.”

Spot laughed again, “You got that right. Your eyes are just the bluest I’ve ever seen...it really is pretty. Don’t tell nobody I told you that, though. I’d be dead on arrival if anyone knew I admire someone.” His eyes went wide and his hand went over his mouth, his face now as red as his shirt.

Race was just as red. “You...” he murmured. “Admire me?” _Is this just some joke?_

“Hey,” Spot quickly looked around, speaking rather loudly, obviously desperate to change the topic. “Where’s Jack?” And thus, began the entire theater chanting for Jack until Davey shouted to get their attention. While he spoke and filled Race’s heart with excitement, the leader of the newsboy union made his way to the front of the theater; Jack Kelly.

Jack’s speech was - in summary - not what everyone wanted to hear. Race was starting to become overwhelmed with distress; the shouting, watching Jack Kelly, a man who never stepped down from a fight, betray them all, seeing a broken and teary Davey run out of the theater, not having Crutchie there to try and calm everyone down. Race was about to run off to find a room to hide in when he saw a sight that couldn’t be unseen. Spot Conlon was furious, more than that: Spot Conlon was _fuming._ He withheld a snarl as he marched over to Jack and shoved him hard, nearly to the other side of the theater. Race was watching with a dropped jaw. The fury. The snarl. The _muscles._ When the two met eyes again, Spot’s cocoa brown eyes were flaming with pure, unadulterated rage that sent a chill up Race’s spine. Race didn’t know why it turned him on so much, but the look in Spot’s eyes made him think about Spot throwing him against the wall and... _Jesus Christ, Race, don’t cum in your pants again._

Race managed to slip away from the other newsies and into a room with a grand piano and a few boxes. Perfect, his trousers were killing him with how tight they were now. He pushed the door shut and sank against a stack of boxes before he shoved a hand down his trousers. His hand slowly rubbed up and down the bulge in his boxers and he bit his lip to keep himself under control, his head falling back against the stack of boxes. His rubbing soon transferred to eagerly stroking his leaking cock, whimpering softly into his free hand and his breath hitching repeatedly. He let thoughts run through his head and coax his hand to move faster and faster. He thought of Spot. He thought of Spot, throwing him onto the wall or bed or God knows what, pinning Race with that dark, dark look in his eyes, kissing Race furiously, marking him up all over, claiming him, making him scream. Race was aching for Spot, a touch, a kiss, anything. As he whimpered loudly and gripped to one of the boxes, he heard something. A slow, drawn out creak. Maybe it was just a creak in the floor, he figured. He continued to stroke himself eagerly with sharp whimpers and kept his head leaned back. Then Race heard footsteps. Fuck, he forgot to lock the door.

“Race?” Double fuck, someone was here. “Race, are you alright?” Race’s heart dropped down to his stomach as he tried to fumble to fix himself. Come on, come on, come on- “Racer?” Race went bright red. Triple fuck, his dick was still in his hand and Spot Conlon was standing right in front of him. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, until Spot finally murmured, “So that’s why you was lookin’ so strange.”

Race started stammering over his words. “Well, I- you- it’s just- I didn’t- you were- it’s not-“

“No, no,” Spot put a hand up to silence the taller newsie. “Do..uh....oh, jeez..” he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I dunno how to say it, I...” Despite the crippling humiliation, Race couldn’t help but feel mildly proud of himself. Spot Conlon was getting lost on his words talking to him. Spot finally managed to slowly say, “Do you want help...?”

Race went crimson and looked down. “Wh _a_ t...?” His voice cracked into a squeak. “Y-You- you mean..?”

Spot nodded quickly, “Yeah, I- I prob’ly shouldn’t’a said nothin’. I’ll just leave ya to finish.”

Race was about to let him walk away when his free hand took Spot’s wrist, “W-Wait a sec.” He said. The two of them locked eyes again, and Race could see some of that leftover frustration at Jack in his dark brown eyes that made him shiver. “You....I wouldn’t mind that bad.”

Spot could feel his cheeks grow warm, “Would ya?” His hand slowly crept up to hold Race’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

Race shook his head and looked down. “No.” _He’s holding my hand, he’s holding my hand, sweet God he’s holding my hand._

Spot was quick to rush back and sit beside him behind the boxes. “Okay...” his first destination was Race’s neck. His lips slowly crept along the side of his neck and danced along the crook of his neck, forcing a sharp gasp out of Race. Spot blushed a soft red and suddenly bit down on the area.

“S-Spot..!” Race breathed out and bit back a moan when he soon felt a soft sucking sensation on the bitten spot. He could feel Spot’s warm breath against his neck when the shorter newsie pulled away and his hand pulled off Spot’s cap and dance around in his soft curls. As he felt Spot’s breath hitch, he moaned sharply and covered his mouth when he felt a calloused hand drift along his waist. Race always considered his waist a “ticklish” area, but just feeling Spot slowly drift his hand along his waist and down his body was probably the most indescribably pleasurable feeling in his lifetime.

Spot moved Race’s hand on his cock aside and soon replaced it with his own before he felt Race buck his hips up eagerly into his hand. “Easy,” he muttered against his neck. “I got it handled.” Race slowly melted and relaxed, nodding quickly with a small squeak of compliance. Spot’s heart started picking up speed when his hand moved in a slow, fluid motion. The slow strokes and gentle squeezes forced a few shuddered moans out of Race as the taller newsie gently gripped Spot’s hair. Spot gasped in reply and his hand jerked up a little faster.

Race noticed the reaction it caused and a smirk grew on his face, “O-Ohh, so the King’o Brooklyn likes his hair pulled, don’t he?~” He gave the roots another gentle tug. Arousal shot through his body when he heard Spot moan against his neck and his hand pick up speed, murmuring for him to do it again. Race complied and tugged again to hear another one of Spot’s beautiful, breathy noises. Race bit his lip and managed to pull Spot’s head back to nibble gently at the tan skin of his neck, one certain nip under his jaw caught Spot’s heavy yet soft breath and held it tight. Race knew he could only tease for so long until his hand was fumbling with and undoing Spot’s fly - which it did.

Spot’s hips suddenly jerked forward when he felt a hand press and massage at his crotch. He moaned softly against his neck and sped up his hand even further before moving to face Race’s front to jack off the newsie easier. The whines and whimpers that slipped from Race’s lips were noises only he could savor for so long. It wasn’t long before Race’s hand was going to town on him. The way he flicked his wrist, the elegant speed, how his thumb occasionally rubbed over the slit, it was causing Spot to melt right into Race’s hand. “ _Sí,_ oh, _cazzo_ , Racer, _sì_ ,” his hazy mind started to slip into the language of his mother’s. “ _Così buono, non fermarti_....” He felt Race buck up desperately into his hand at the Italian words which made him blush.

Race eventually began to desperately squirm in Spot’s hand before long, his breath stared to pick up and his voice raised a few octaves, “Spot, Spot, ohhh SpotSpotSpot _Spot_...! Oh god, I’m gonna- I-I need to...” Race panted faster and faster at feeling Spot’s hand become a blur, “Fuck, Spot, pleaseplease _please_ , oh..!-!” With a few desperate thrusts of his hips into Spot’s hand, Race threw his head back and gave one final moan of the Brooklyn newsie’s name, spilling all over his hand.

Spot’s hand slowed speed and eventually pulled away. He was now left panting against Race’s neck as Race’s hand continued to stroke him rapidly, the other gently tugging on his charcoal curls. “Race...Racer, RacerRacer _Race_...” his hands flew to Race’s waist to hold onto him as he felt the taller newsie’s legs adjust to be around his waist slightly.

“Yeah, you got it, Spottie...” Race murmured behind his ear. “So good, you’re so good~ I know you like it when I’m touchin’ ya like this, baby...”

Spot was in pure bliss. Race’s hand moving so elegantly yet rapidly. The tugging on his curly hair. The kisses peppered on his neck. The cooing in his ear. The half-lidded crystal blue eyes that Spot couldn’t tear his gaze from whenever it met Race’s. Just feeling another boy against him like this. Race was pure perfection, Spot realized. He couldn’t let this boy go anytime soon. It would shatter him if he ever had to let Race go. “Race...oh, Race, babe...” he couldn’t help the nickname that slipped from his lips as Race lapped at a sensitive part of his neck. “Race, I’m- I’m...so close, fuck I’m sososo close....”

Race moaned and kept nipping and kissing and sucking on his neck, “C’mon, Spottie, oh c’mon, pleasepleaseplease cum for me...~” he moaned along with Spot to help him out when he watched the Brooklyn boy spill into his hand. When it was over and the two were left panting against each other’s lips, Race felt Spot brush a hand against his cheek and pull him into a kiss, to which the taller boy completely melted. _He’s kissing me. Spot Conlon’s kissing me._ Race smirked into the kiss, murmuring once they pulled away, “Now might be an obvious time ta mention how pretty ya really are.”

Spot smiled. Not a usual smirk, but a smile. “And now might be an obvious time ta mention I’d wanna see you again sometime soon.”

Race gave a fake pout that caused Spot to laugh, “And leave me ‘ere all by myself?”

Spot snickered and sat beside Race with an arm around him and another kiss. “No way. I like ya too much.”

As Race relished in the soon embrace and various kisses Spot would plant on his lips, he felt joy fill his heart once again. _He likes me._

_Spot Conlon likes me._

**Author's Note:**

> this had a substitute title while i wrote this and it was called "penis"


End file.
